Rainy Days
by ariadne-chan
Summary: On the days when the red and yellow and orange leaves are on the ground and the wind is so cold that it cut through layers of clothes that protected her skin, she would think of him.


_She dwells on him the most during the fall._

Actually, her thoughts are about him every day no matter the season, but during the fall her thoughts stay on him practically every moment, and they distracted her so much to the point where one of her receptionists had to call out her name four or five times before they brought her out of her reverie.

It is during the gloomy days that she would spend her time dwelling on him, not on the bright, shining ones. Days when the red and yellow and orange leaves were on the ground and the wind so cold it cut through the layers of clothes that protected her skin—days when the sky isn't cloudless, the sun isn't out, and the leaves doesn't crackle for it is too damp and squishy for that. Those days are the epitome of a miserable fall day, yes, but secretly, those days are the ones rather close to her heart.

And so it was during those days that she often found herself outside amidst the spluttering rain that wasn't hard enough to send people inside for shelter, but wasn't light enough that children were playing outside. She would usually bring the dog with her for comfort, and the golden retriever they had named Ice Cube reminded her of the times when he had been out there with them as he made snarky comments about the horrible weather. _She found herself smiling silly as she recalled the way he complained that she really _had_ to drag him out on such a chilly and wet evening when he could have been practicing _another_ classical piece instead._ He would frown, of course, and then she would smile and try to convince him that there is more to life than endless violin practices as they strolled hand in hand along the streets.

Sometimes, she could hear him talk to her in his usual, almost whispering voice, but whenever she turned around, he was never there. The sad thing was, sometimes she expected him to be standing behind her with his trademark frown on his face and then he would flatly state that he is getting too old to keep up with her fast pace and their dog's matching stride.

If it was one of those days and she was too tired from sorting out their music school's papers to go for a long walk, she would sit on a rocking chair situated at the balcony. He'd always told her that the fact that they ended up living in a white house surrounded by trees near the ocean with a balcony and a tire swinging from a tree in the backyard was far too clichéd for the lives they had led as violinists—getting the golden retriever had just solidified the whole idea. _She rocked back and forth slowly and turned her head to the matching rocking chair beside her own_—sometimes she expected him to be sitting there and they would watch the rain drizzle in front them—_she recalled how he stared at her while his eyes twinkled with a secret he would never reveal to her, even after over thirty years of marriage._

Those fall days deemed as 'bad days' reminded her of the day when he had told her he loved her back when they were still young, years after he'd left Japan on a rainy fall day. She had attended the welcoming party his mother had organized—he had been able to fulfill his dreams then, and she was glad because she had spent all those years hoping and wishing all the best for him. He'd surprised her after dinner when he'd silently followed her out of the mansion and asked if he could walk her home. It had been a crisp afternoon, and then it was a dark, drizzly night. Neither of them had had an umbrella, and so by the time they had reached the awning that sheltered the door to her apartment, they were soaking wet. He'd asked her if she would still accept him even after he'd left her alone for eight years without so much as a call or a letter or even something as simple as a word. He'd asked her right there under the awning as water seeped into their formal clothes and it poured around them as the wind blew leaves in tiny whirlwinds.

The weather and setting had fit their relationship perfectly: stormy, random and surprising.

She'd said yes.

If it started raining on fall days during her lunch break, she would step outside and tightly hug her jacket to herself as the rain obscured her view and then she would take in her surroundings. Sometimes, she would turn towards his favorite practice room on the music school they'd established together, where she expected to find him, his back to the door as he watched the rain fall outside the window. He would turn and frown as she stood on the doorway—_she recalled the way he folded his arms arrogantly in front of his chest and complain, again, about the weather.__  
_  
Their son Haru was born on a gloomy fall day. His name was something Kazuki came up with, intended as a joke, but ended up on his birth certificate anyway. There had even been some lightning, but by the time the labor was over and the baby got cleaned up, there were only sporadic showers outside. They had stared at their family's newest addition with silent awe—he'd squeezed her hand and given her an uncharacteristic grin as he glanced out of the window and made another comment about big things happening to them on days that most people hated.

They had told their son about their past on an overcast October afternoon—about the first time they met when he told her to get out of the way; she'd even told their son how she thought back then that his father was the best violinist she'd ever met. She had tucked Haru to bed as the evening deepened, and told him the story of a girl who'd been able to see a music fairy. She had told their little boy how the fairy had blessed the girl with a violin that she would be able to play, as long as she played the instrument with her heart. He had wrapped an arm around her shoulders as he proceeded to tell their son about their first duet, and about their rivalry even if it wasn't exactly true. He'd even surprised her when he told Haru of the violin romance—she'd never expected him to believe, much less know all about it in the first place. They had told him about their school, the concours, about his mother and their friends and their music. They told him that in the future, he may end up taking the same path.

Take the same path he did, but both were surprised to find Haru interested in Ryou's instrument instead. She'd delighted on the fact, and he wasn't even disappointed.

Haru called on days like those all the way from Vienna just to check on her. She appreciated her son's thoughtfulness, especially considering that he has his own career and life to worry about and he didn't have to take up his time to check weather reports for Japan. Sometimes when she's on the phone with Haru, she expected her husband to saunter up behind her and demand to talk to his son. He would proceed to ask Haru about his solo performances, about his colleagues, up to the weather he's having, because it's miserable where they were and he'd much rather be playing a piano-violin ensemble with his only child.

She hated the days in the fall with clear, blue skies—when the scent of the trees changed from growing trees to dying foliage—when the crisp bite to the air smelled like the beginning of hibernation. Especially when it's like that on one specific day in the middle of October, the day when her world stopped turning for twenty-four hours. On those sunny days she would sit for God knows how long and then she would stare at a picture of him that she kept on her desk at her office, or on one of the many places about their home. It _should_ be dark outside during those days—cloudy, with the chance of rain so high that one could practically smell it, with the evidence of the leaves that danced across the lawn…

He died on a day like one of those—the complete opposite of the rainy days she preferred. The sun had been shining and they had been inside one of the practice rooms with Haru as they rehearsed another ensemble piece; a memorable family moment. Then, suddenly, he was on the floor with his hand at his heart and she had been beside him—tears streamed down her face as the sun became too bright and the clear air suffocating and the neighborhood too loud as Haru called for an ambulance. She cried—oh yes, she cried, for she hadn't been able to do something--anything.

The doctor said that the heart attack was unavoidable, that it had built up for a while, but even the comforting words and presence of her family and friends didn't ease the pain she felt when they came out of his room at the hospital and told her he didn't have much longer.

He passed away with his violin laid carefully on his side.

She had been with him when he had finally let go, and for at least an hour she had sat as she prayed and hoped with everything inside of her that somehow, he would turn his head and tell her that they'd be back inside one of the practice rooms in no time because there is a chance that he would make it, some way.

But his head never turned, his eyes never opened, and his hand in hers became colder by the second until Haru gently pried her away.

He never really understood her love of miserable fall days that were wet and cold.

She loved them so much because they reminded her of him. He was as intense as the cold air and as stormy as the rain and as dark as the clouds and as mysterious as the silence that descended on those days. But he was also her shelter from the weather—when he was seated on the rocking chair on the balcony beside her as they listened to Haru play a piece composed by Ryou—when he would walk Ice Cube in the drizzle with a tiny umbrella for one with both of them under it, his arm around her shoulders.

Tsukimori Kahoko sat peacefully on the rocking chair as she watched the rain fall, and she hummed to the tune of Schubert's Ave Maria. She closed her eyes then, for she was slipping away, and she reached out blindly for his outstretched hand. _Her hand dropped to her side, a smile on her lips, and the rocking chair slowed to a stop_. She had spent her rainy fall days just thinking about him.

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**and this is where i disappear...**

ah, this is (another) story i've written for the la corda d'oro writing competition. i submitted the entry last night! whooo! the prompt's fall/halloween. gah, i wanted to write something which involves 'trick or treat!' (gaaah, don't make me start blabbering about my fantasized tsukimori len treats) but the weather here is so horrible i couldn't have written anything happy if i tried. gloomy days, gaah. how depressing.

so i went ahead and read miss erythros's stories. *sniffles* her stories actually inspired me to give this prompt a try. i've never read anything so exquisitely heart-tugging (whoa, wth?) *envious* and please, we only have two seasons in this country (unfortunately) so if i made mistakes (again) about the fall descriptions, just point it out, ne? ^-^ *too much anime can be dangerous to my health, i know i know, so pat me on the head and sympathize*

you can check out the rest of the entries here: (community . live journal . com/la_corda_fics/)

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as for updates, final editing is in progress (for hitoshii kawase and something to believe in). the more i stared at the drafts, the more the scenes stopped making sense. i think i should just dump the papers on a trash bin or something. or eat banana peelings. yea.


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